


Bathing the Nurse

by Quiet_Shadow



Series: The Wetnurse [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Breastfeeding, Captivity, M/M, Mpreg, Non Consensual, Restraints, Slash, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 03:22:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiet_Shadow/pseuds/Quiet_Shadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Hot Rod reluctantly settles into his new role as Soundwave Cassettes' wet-nurse, the telepath goes out of his way to take good care of him. It includes helping him bath... And something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bathing the Nurse

**Author's Note:**

> The second part of my 'Wetnurse' series, inspired by camfield's works.
> 
> Warnings: Implied slash (Springer/Hot Rod), mpreg, non consensual breastfeeding by giant robots...

He hadn’t been too sure what to expect when he had mentioned he needed to clean up. And not just the ‘erase the mess the little slaggers left on my pouches and chestplates’ cleaning, either, but a good, full, honest cleaning of his frame, to wash away the grim and dust and relax his joints.

At the most, Hot Rod had assumed he would be given some bottles of cleansers, a sponge and a cube of water to rinse himself. Actually, he had really hoped he could wash himself with a sponge, if only to have his wrists released for a while. Ever since he had been dragged to the Nemesis to ensure Soundwave’s Cassettes continued nourishment, the Cassettes’ holder hadn’t freed him of his bonds, not once. Whenever his wrists or ankles weren’t chained together, they were chained at the head and foot of the berth.

The only thing he had relented on had been the gag, once Hot Rod had calmed down sufficiently for his taste.

Hot Rod would have accused Soundwave of being paranoid – because, really, being prisoner in an underwater base filled with enemy warriors, locked up in a room with more locks than he cared to count, without any weapons or means to contact someone outside, what did Soundwave expected him to do? – but if he was honest with himself, the red and yellow mech knew he would jump at the smallest opportunity to escape confinement.

If Hot Rod hadn’t been here against his will and a prisoner with no choice but to obey, he would have said Soundwave was actually – ah, what was the term the humans used again?... Ah, yes, he remembered – what one would call a ‘mother hen’.

The prisoner couldn’t do anything by himself. It was Soundwave who held out the cubes he drank and monitored how much he took in a gulp. Soundwave still who carried him from the floor to the berth or the chair, wherever his Cassettes wanted to install themselves to take their ‘meal’. Soundwave again, who arranged the young Autobot’s body to have him comfortably lie among cushions and blankets whenever he had to leave him alone. Soundwave, always Soundwave, who washed away any strain upon the captive’s frame. Soundwave who gathered him in his arms to carry him to the Medbay, to be regularly checked out by Hook and the rest of the Constructicons, to be sure his gestational period occurred normally and the sparkling was healthy. Soundwave, who was regularly massaging his swelling abdomen in soothing circles, something Hot Rod longed to do to reassure himself.

Hot Rod felt shame and rage at being so helpless. But he had also felt and was always feeling no little amount of surprise when he had realized Soundwave actually enjoyed taking care of him. Sure, the Decepticon TIC had promised Hot Rod would be taken care of, but Hot Rod had expected a worse treatment than what he had been given.

Perhaps having all the Cassettes so enamored of his frame wasn’t so bad…

But he was digressing.

So, Hot Rod had mentioned he wanted a true cleaning session. Soundwave had acknowledged the idea, and more or less promised to do something to accommodate his needs.

Hot Rod had truly no idea he had intended to drag him to washracks. Honestly.

Soundwave had only let him out outside of Medbay appointments thrice before, and that had been when Hot Rod had just arrived on the Nemesis.

Not wanting to be parted of his captive (with the ulterior motive of having him properly trained to take care of the Cassettes’ feeding times) and expecting – with reason, Hot Rod supposed – the Autobot to create troubles if he was left unchecked for too long, the burly blue mech had actually carried him, bound and gagged, into the Nemesis’ hub, to install him at his feet, next to his chair at a console.

To say Hot Rod had been mortified would have been an understatement. Cheeks hot, he had seen the smirks on the faces of the various Decepticons who had come and gone, and heard no small amounts of gross and perverted jokes about him. He still shuddered as he remembered the looming figures over him, and the way they had tried to feel him up, only to be stopped by Soundwave’s sharp orders. Hot Rod had felt shamed like never before, but had thought he could live with it.

He knew Soundwave had no interest in having him come to harm, so he at least had some measure of protection. Besides, he had reasoned while staying in the hub, perhaps he could overhear things that could become useful for the Autobots once he managed to get away from this place.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t been the only one to think so.

Megatron wasn’t a fool. A tyrant and a very violent mech with delusions of grandeur, yes, but no fool. Having a prisoner lying around on his command desk was an annoyance he was willing to suffer for Soundwave’s unwavering loyalty, as long as the captive stayed quiet… and couldn’t be considered a security risk. Hot Rod wasn’t to be talking, nor should he be hearing or seeing. In a short amount of time, and despite a furious if doomed resistance, Hot Rod had been blindfolded and rendered temporarily deaf, audio short-circuited.

It was the most… shaking experience Hot Rod had ever felt. Here he was, in the dark, unable to hear or move or emit a sound, and being surrounded by enemies, without any true reassurance things would be ok. Just like the first time, Soundwave had connected some of his cables to his medical ports to monitor his systems, and the Communication Officer had once again allowed him the short range comm. link encrypted to his frequency only, cable connecting behind Hot Rod’s head. But unlike the last time, he had been mostly silent and very unsympathetic. Perhaps because they were in public and he was working.

Hot Rod didn’t know how long he had stayed like that – his chronometer had short-circuited earlier and nobody had seen fit to repair it. Immobile, bored and afraid, he had had to put with various, unidentified people walking around him, crouching near him as if to get a closer look, and touching him. A pair of hands had slide along his hips, and various hands had come to press against his stomach plates, probably trying to get a feel of the sparkling developing underneath. Hot Rod hadn’t liked it the slightest. If anything, it had made him even more nervous, and almost convinced him the ‘Cons were out to harm his sparkling.

But the worse part had come when the Cassettes had arrived for their ‘meal’. Hot Rod had been forcefully fed at some point, so he knew it was going to happen.

He just hadn’t thought he would be forced to nurse them just where he was, in public.

Soundwave had showed himself to be so reassuring the first time that Hot Rod had thought he would wait for privacy before he forced Hot Rod to ‘perform’ again. No such luck. He had wanted to cry with fright when his systems had sent the command for his chestplates to part and his pouches to fill. He had tried to get away from Soundwave when the TIC had pressed the pump against his pouches and started to extract the enriched energon for his animalistic Cassettes. He had cried openly, coolant fluids dripping from his optics, when he had felt Rumble and Frenzy’s small mouths attach themselves to his sensitive nubs and start to suck.

And finally, he had wept when he had understood they were still in the middle of a working shift and that all the Decepticons present on the deck had seen his bare pouches and enjoyed what they had seen. Pit, one of them had even touched them, before having his hand swapped away by an annoyed Soundwave.

Worse even. Rumble and Frenzy came back for seconds, then thirds. Without any means to measure time, Hot Rod couldn’t have been sure why, if it had been gluttony, or if Soundwave work shift had been so long it had lasted for several feeding times. The TIC certainly had never left his post or Hot Rod, but it didn’t mean someone hadn’t brought him a cube to consume at his desk.

Anyway, the whole thing had happened twice more, each time more processor wrecking than the last. In the end, Hot Rod had begged Soundwave to just be left alone in the TIC’s quarters, just… don’t force him to nurse in public again, while being efficiently cut from everything happening around him. He wouldn’t cause any problem. Promise. Just… please.

Soundwave had relented. Though he hadn’t left him alone, per se. Usually, there was Buzzsaw or Ratbat, or even Laserbeak staying in the room with him, staring at him. Creepy, but far less than being at the mercy of whatever or whoever was in the hub.

Perhaps it had all been a plan to make Hot Rod more docile. If it was, then it had worked, he thought bitterly. He certainly never wanted to repeat the experience.

Seclusion into Soundwave’s quarters allowed him to feel at least a little safer, if only marginally, because he couldn’t bring himself to entirely trust the blue mech, despite his promises – and especially after the command deck incidents.

Still, Soundwave kept his word… most of the time.

But he was digressing again.

All he’d had to do was to mention he would enjoy feeling really clean. Soundwave nodded and left to work, came back at the end of his shift to help his Cassettes install themselves on their favorite meal ticket, let them suck him as much as they wanted and sent them back to work. Then, instead of washing the stains left on Hot Rod’s plating – because sometimes, Frenzy and Rumble were messy drinkers – he had loosely closed the Autobot’s plates and left.

A few breems later, just enough to make the necessary arrangements, and Soundwave had come and gotten him, binding his hands before him and releasing – miracle! – his ankles to allow him to walk under his own power.

“Autobot Hot Rod’s ankles joints: stiff by lack of utility. Dangerous. Recommendation of Constructicons: allowing prisoner to walk a bit.” Soundwave had justified, helping him to rise.

And then he had slid an arm around his waist and helped Hot Rod walk, slowly, out of the room and into a mostly deserted hallway. They came across a few ‘Cons along the way, most notably Drag Strip and Breakdown, who had stared at Hot Rod with incredulity. Only, their stares hadn’t been directed at the prisoner’s chest, but at his rounding abdomen. The sparkling was beginning to show itself, showing it was most likely going to be big. At their look, Hot Rod guessed they must have never seen a Carrier before…

It didn’t take them that long to reach the communal washracks. Hot Rod almost grimaced, imagining himself being gawked at by more Decepticons, but Soundwave continued to guide him inside, further than the double range of small individual cabins, some of them already occupied, to another door in the back, locked down. As they reached it, Soundwave started to enter a code on a nearby panel, and the door slid open with a ‘whizz’.

Hot Rod blinked and turned his head toward Soundwave, uncertain, but the blue mech just gently pushed him inside, followed him immediately and locked the door behind them

It was a private bathroom, with a very large rack, and a pool dug into the floor, large enough to accommodate a Seeker’s girth. Hot Rod had the feeling the pool wasn’t used very often, or at least, not by random, average soldiers. It was the officers’ private bath, he realized with a start.

Soundwave was offering him to wash… in the Decepticons’ officers own bath room.

“Not… not just the racks?” he asked, bemused. He had never taken a real bath before… Soundwave shook his head.

“Negative. Bath: much more soothing for Autobot Hot Rod and sparkling,” he answered swiftly, not letting his prisoner the time to add another word. Gently, he guided Hot Rod to the pool, helped him walk down the few steps and made him sit inside, kneeling at his side to insure he was comfortably installed, back pressing against one of the wall.

“Order: wait here,” he said, rising again and taking a few great stride to an unassuming control panel that he studied for a few joors before pushing a selection of buttons. Hot Rod bit his lower lip, wanting very much to say something about the ‘order’, but restraining himself because he had the feeling Soundwave wouldn’t care, and, really, he didn’t want to take the risk of Soundwave changing his mind and taking him back into the communal racks. He didn’t want someone getting ideas while he was rinsing himself…

As soon as Soundwave finished entering a series of commands, clear liquids started to fill the pool from various orifices, crashing on and around the Autobot’s body. Hot Rod recognized hot water, and a basic cleaning solution he had often used himself, and he guessed there was a third product into the mix, because the smell wasn’t what he was used to. It reminded him of the rare perfumed waxes a former noble had collected and showed him and Arcee when he had been much younger…

“Query: heat: adequate?” Soundwave asked him. Hot Rod blinked, his musings stopping abruptly. “Hum? Oh… yes, it feels good,” he answered awkwardly, making Soundwave nod. The cleaning solution swiftly pooled around him, and Hot Rod wondered if he was going to be submerged. Soundwave didn’t feel the pool to its maximum capacity, though. He eventually stopped the water when it reached Hot Rod at mid-chest. Then he joined Hot Rod down in the water, profiting too of the cleansing.

The red and yellow mech had shuttered his optics and let himself sink a little deeper into the water, enjoying the resulting heat on his plating. He could feel the water and the mixed solvents sliding inside his ankle, knee and elbow joints, cleansing away the filth accumulated despite Soundwave’s daily actions. It slid equally in between his unlocked chestplates, bathing his flat pouches, which procured him a rather… enjoyable sensation. He blinked in alarm as he felt a foreign body press against him, and he powered up his optics in alarm, only to be reassured as he saw it was only a sponge. A very large sponge, in fact, that Soundwave had started to rub against his hips and sides.

“I could do that myself…” he started. Soundwave interrupted him. “Action: impossible with bound hands.”

“Then release my wrists, and I…” tried Hot Rod. Soundwave shook his head. “Negative. Bindings: necessity. Autobot Hot Rod: still considered a prisoner. Megatron’s orders: cuffs stay on at anytime.”

Hot Rod let a bitter laugh escape him. Right. Let’s not let the Autobot forget his status, only because so far he hasn’t been tortured or violently manhandled. His body tensed again and let his head drop a little, as he straightened. Soundwave tilted his head while watching him. “Autobot Hot Rod: unhappy of my help?” he asked, sincerely puzzled.

“I would like to be able to do something by myself, just once,” he mumbled in answer, not directly answering the question. Soundwave was careful and shall he say, intentioned, no question asked. But Hot Rod longed for the smallest bit of freedom, and there was none for him to grab.

There was silence, and then…

“Soundwave: can continue?” he asked Hot Rod, showing him the wet sponge. “… Why do you do that, Soundwave?” Hot Rod sighed.

It took a moment for the TIC to formulate his answer. “Autobot Hot Rod: has showed amenable to Soundwave’s demands so far. Cassettes, enjoying themselves. Like Autobot Hot Rod. Soundwave… enjoying seeing them happy. Hot Rod unhappiness: sore point. Soundwave’s aim: help him relax and accept.”

“Accept, right,” snorted Hot Rod. “Well, I can’t exactly stop you, can I?” he said almost bitterly.

Soundwave took the answer at face values. “Autobot Hot Rod: should make the most of the occasion to feel his sparkling,” he said simply, offering an advice. Hot Rod didn’t answer, but pressed both hands over his stomach plates. The little one wasn’t developed enough to start kicking or moving around, but he knew the simple fact of putting his hands over him would help Hot Rod relax.

That was one of the small things Soundwave regretfully wasn’t able to do as he wanted. Megatron’s orders were to have the prisoner’s hands behind his back at any time, pending special circumstances, if Soundwave really wanted to keep him in his own quarters. And Soundwave wanted to be able to assure Hot Rod’s security at any time, so letting him partially free and in the brig was out of the question. It was a bit cruel of his leader’s part, he supposed, but it wasn’t Soundwave’s place to discuss his orders.

He nodded at Hot Rod in acknowledgment and started to rub the sponge all over him, slowly circling him as he reached for different parts. Gently, he lifted Hot Rod’s legs, rubbing the sponge over them in slow, small circles, trying to soothe the tense mech. He did the same to the arms, then to the mech pelvic plating and swollen abdomen, taking extra care when he reached that area, before turning him around to work on his back. Ever so slowly, and despite his misgivings and internal struggle (something Soundwave picked up easily but didn’t comment onto), he managed to get Hot Rod to lean against him and produce small sighs of pleasure. The TIC felt very rewarded and self satisfied after he heard the first.

Back to Soundwave, Hot Rod had let his expression relax into a contented smile. Soundwave truly had a knack for finding pleasure spots and taking his time. If only it could have been Springer instead, sharing the bath with him…

There was a noise, the sound of armor separating, and Hot Rod frowned as he looked down at him. He gasped in shock as he saw his pouches had filled and were fully expanded. Again. But… Soundwave hadn’t forced him open. Nor had he voluntarily send the command, he was sure of that. So why would his systems act up…? He was growing agitated; had he picked up a virus? Was there a problem with the sparkling?

He tried to rise of the bath, but Soundwave caught him by the arm and forced him to sit back down. Panicked blue optics met an impenetrable visor.

“Soundwave, what…?” he started, horrified. Soundwave watched the full pouches, then stilled. Hot Rod recognized the lack of movement as the meaning he was using his comm to call someone. After a few joors, Soundwave turned his optics toward him. “Autobot Hot Rod: must calm down. Happening: perfectly normal. Autobot: just hit middle of his carrying period. Nothing to fear,” he added.

“Middle of…?” asked Hot Rod weakly, feeling more and more uncomfortable. Energon was flooding down his nubs and dripping over his pouches and onto his armor into the water. It was very uncomfortable, and despite all the orders he sent, his systems refused to acknowledge his demands to stop the enriched energon production immediately.

“Production of enriched energon: hit a new running point. Reserves and production: increasing suddenly. Systems: have trouble filtering them correctly, resulting in dripping feeding lines. Nothing dangerous. Inconvenience: will disappear after a few orns.”

“Orns?!” shrieked Hot Rod. “I will not stay orns like that!”

“Systems: will return to normal faster if Autobot Hot Rod starts feeding someone,” said Soundwave, matter-of-factly. Hook had transmitted him quite an interesting amount of data about the different stage of the Cybertronian pregnancy, things even Soundwave, who had helped more than one Carrier over his years, hadn’t known. But this one, he had already known about.

Hot Rod grimaced. “… Where are your Cassettes? Let’s get if over fast.” But Soundwave shook his head. “Cassettes: already fed. Those who’re not: on mission. Unable to come back for now.”

Hot Rod felt his spark skip a beat as he looked down at the fluid still dripping over him. “Figures,” he mumbled. “The only time I wouldn’t totally be adverse about feeding your little monsters, there’re nowhere to find.”

Soundwave didn’t answer. He was staring at the proximity of Hot Rod’s pouches and the rivulets of energon cascading into the water. Such a waste…

“You… you don’t have your pump, I assume?” the red and yellow mech asked with some hope. Soundwave shook his head. Hot Rod sagged. “Oh… It would have been too good. And… Pit, I don’t want to have to walk to your quarters like this,” he whined.

Soundwave acknowledged that.

“… Will I have to nurse the other Decepticons, then?” asked Hot Rod, defeated. “Since I don’t have much choice outside of that or letting it run out naturally only Primus knows when,” he tried to justify himself, noting Soundwave didn’t seem happy. And for a guy with a visor and a mask, it wasn’t easy to tell.

“Negative,” said Soundwave, stiffening. “Autobot Hot Rod’s pouches: for the use of Cassettes only, not for other Decepticons.”

The sheer idea he would let his Cassettes precious fuel-source in the hands of someone else was ludicrous. Who knew what they would do to Hot Rod? No, if the other Decepticons wanted to nurse, they would have to catch their own (carrying, but not necessarily, if he had the right codes installed) Autobot or spark one themselves. Soundwave wouldn’t share with people outside his small, familial circle.

Of course, it would be a waste of good energon if someone wasn’t sucking what was coming out of Hot Rod pouches. The Cassettes didn’t need it for now, and Soundwave hadn’t brought his pump with him, which was too bad. But there was, however, another possible solution. “… Soundwave: might be able to help,” he said softly, slowly putting a hand on one of the swollen pouches. They were very soft to the touch, he mused.

Hot Rod shuddered in pleasure at Soundwave’s contact, then stiffened and his optics grew large. “You want to…?” he didn’t finish his sentence, feeling a bit faint, as well as embarrassed, terrified and… vaguely, very vaguely aroused by the mere suggestion. Feeding the Cassettes was one thing. Feeding their creator/father figure/boss was quite another. But Soundwave’s hand on his pouch fell… good. His mouth… perhaps it would feel the same.

“If Autobot Hot Rod amenable to the idea,” the Decepticon conceded. He studied carefully Hot Rod’s face. There was shock, fear, anger here, sadness too and… also, also, a small tad of lust. Soundwave saw this as a sign, and retracted his mask as soon as Hot Rod glanced at him.

The young Autobot bit his lips as he caught sight of Soundwave’s mouth, slightly parted and his cheeks flushed hot as he saw the Decepticon lick his lips in anticipation. Then he glanced down once more at his pouches. They were beginning to feel sore, and the water around him had started to be tainted in pinkish hues.

“Go ahead,” he finally choked out, shuttering his optics as he felt Soundwave kneel deeper into the water and lift him a little to install him on his lap. A long, hot glossa circled one of his nubs, before dental plates bit a little into the soft lining of the pouch, making him gasp.

“Ah!” he cried out, as he felt another sharp bite around his pouch.

Soundwave almost smirked. Almost. He had half a mind to tease his captive further, but decided against it. Slowly, he started to suction the tip of Hot Rod’s left pouch, the nub delicately held between his dental plates, and he made a small sound of enjoyment as his mouth filled with rich, nutritious fluid.

Primus… for once, he truly envied his Cassettes.

Hot Rod was quite the catch, and a definite keeper, like Rumble had proclaimed.

One arm slid around Hot Rod’s waist, keeping him close. The open palm came to press against the Autobot’s swelling middle and he felt Hot Rod pass his bound arms around his neck, holding onto him as he emitted moans of pleasure and small pleas. Soundwave’s other arm circled the red and yellow mech’s shoulders, bringing him closer to Soundwave’s awaiting mouth.

Around them, the water was cooling down, but neither of them paid it any mind…


End file.
